


How Many Times?

by simplyspn



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: After s3e3, Anal Sex, First Kiss, First Time, Implied Sexual Assault, M/M, Near Death Experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-10
Updated: 2016-06-10
Packaged: 2018-07-14 06:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7157045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyspn/pseuds/simplyspn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock almost gets himself killed. Again. John's rage at the situation blinds him from his seven year attempt to keep his feelings in check.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How Many Times?

“You’re a bloody _moron!”_ John hissed the words as he slammed the door to Baker Street behind him, following Sherlock closely. Blue eyes scanned the lean body in front of him for any injury the detective could be withholding.

 

“Stop making a fuss! I knew what I was doing, John. The probability that he would have hit me from that distance and at that angle was approximately – “

 

John threw his hand up to cut him off. They had spent the last six hours chasing a murderer through what seemed to be the entirety of England. When they had finally caught up to him, he had cornered John. In that moment, all of John’s instincts kicked in. He was close enough to the criminal for hand-to-hand combat, but before he could raise his fists or take a stance, a shot rang out and buzzed past the doctor. John could only see inky curls disappearing behind the bins, and he instantly thought Sherlock had been hit.

 

That was, until he realised that the criminal was in just as much shock as John was.

 

Also, until he realised, that the criminal wasn’t holding a gun. Yet.

 

Moments later, three more shots pierced the night air in rapid succession, leaving John deafened for what seemed like ages. This time, it was the criminal firing. At Sherlock.

 

“I could have disarmed him myself!” John barked, ripping off his black jacket hastily and hanging it on the peg. “He could have shot you! Do you know how long it would have taken me to disarm him and then get to you?!”

 

“Well, given your current shape, about fifty-nine seconds.”

 

John didn’t need to know how Sherlock deduced that. John didn’t _want_ to know what he meant when he said ‘given your current shape’. All John knew was that fifty-nine seconds was _more than enough time_ for Sherlock to have bled out while John was mere feet away, helpless to get to him any sooner.

 

“You could have died! I could have lost you. Again. I’ve already had to bury you once. Attend one funeral. How many times are you going to make me do that, hm? How many bloody times are you going to make me watch you die?”

 

Sherlock stood, mouth agape as he watched John. There was something beautiful about him when he was like this, Sherlock realised. There was a passion in his voice – a passion that, somehow, centred around Sherlock. But why? Why would this doctor care that he put himself in danger? He had done it to get John _out_ of danger. Both times. Wasn’t that…better?

 

Or was that just selfish? He needed John to be okay more than he needed himself to be okay. But maybe John needed the same thing. Maybe John needed Sherlock to be okay more than he needed himself to be okay. So here they were, stuck in an endless loop of sacrificing themselves for each other.

 

Sherlock had recently come to terms that he was in love with John Watson. A feeling he had never felt before. He was terrified at first. He had done endless amounts of research and read countless books on the subject – everything from science studies to the _disgusting_ novels written in third person about the concept of falling in love. Sherlock realized that if he stripped away details, that what he felt for John was incredibly similar to what the characters in the books felt, and what the scientists described ‘love’ as. Part of him wish he could do a test. Have a sample of his blood from before his doctor walked into his life, and a sample from now. Compare the two. See the difference in the chemicals – scientific proof of being in love. But this time, for once in his life, he didn’t need the science to back it up. He just _knew._

 

Somewhere along the lines, Sherlock checked out. When he refocused, John was still going on about the incident in the alley.

 

“Sherlock? Sherlock!” There was a tinge of worry there. That throaty sound that Sherlock remembered hearing lying on the pavement after his jump from St. Bart’s. It sent a pain through him. But a moment later, he had been pinned to the wall by John’s body and John’s hot breath was caressing his face. Blue eyes met green-grey hues and Sherlock was speechless for the first time in his life. John crashed their lips together, and Sherlock melted.

 

John had always had a unique scent to him – sandalwood and mint and antiseptic – but Sherlock never allowed himself to dwell too much on what John would _taste_ like. The detective’s lips parted, welcoming John’s tongue in for exploration while Sherlock took to memorising every single bit of him, and locking it away in the section of his mind palace dedicated solely to John. That section was slowly beginning to take over the entire palace, but in this moment, Sherlock didn’t care.

 

The ex-soldier effortlessly lifted Sherlock into his arms, keeping him against the wall. The ease at which he lifted him caused an unfamiliar sound to pass Sherlock’s lips. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.” John’s voice was barely above a whisper, gravelly with desire that Sherlock knew he didn’t know what to do with.

 

“Never.” He promised. And he meant it, for the most part. A smile upturned the corners of the detective’s mouth. John was trying so hard to keep himself in check, to let this end at a kiss that he had been waiting on for nearly seven years. John, always being cautious when it came to Sherlock, never wanting to cross any lines. But Sherlock _wanted_ more. He wanted everything with John. He didn’t want to let this end at a kiss that was loaded enough to turn him on for days and promise to be fuel for several good wanks. He wanted the real John, not the fantasy. Not now that he knew that John felt the same way he did, at least in some capacity.

 

But how would Sherlock tell him? No words seemed right. And maybe there were no words. Sherlock had catalogued every minute part of John over the years. He knew his body well – as well as he could without ever actually being intimate with him. And he knew that John had a very sensitive area on his neck, right on his jugular, where his jaw met the vein. It took everything Sherlock had to look away from those cerulean eyes and lean forward, pressing his lips to that area.

 

He was rewarded with a shaky exhale of breath that nearly resembled a moan.

 

The sound made Sherlock’s heart leap. He’d not heard John make that noise before – and he’d heard John make lots of noises. Sharing a flat with paper-thin walls made privacy almost impossible. Whatever sound that was, was a sound for Sherlock and Sherlock only. He leaned forward again, this time parting his lips to let his teeth graze over the flesh. He could feel John’s pulse against his tongue, feel the vibrations from his throat as he made that sound again. It quickly dissolved into a moan. “Sherlock…”

 

The breathless way John said his name had Sherlock’s body responding instantly. John, still holding Sherlock in his arms, quickly turned towards the kitchen. His room was too far. They’d never make it. Sherlock’s room was the best option. As if reading John’s mind, Sherlock eyed his bedroom door. His pupils were blown with lust, and John set him down on his feet before pulling him into another kiss, leading him to the bedroom.

 

John’s heart was pounding so violently against his ribs that he was sure it was going to burst out of his chest. How long had he wanted this? Years. He had wanted Sherlock for years. And now it would seem that Sherlock wanted him just as much. John used his foot to kick the bedroom door shut behind them, his head tilting to the side when Sherlock attacked his neck again, earning more quiet groans of encouragement. Long, slender fingers brushed against John’s chest, making him shiver in delight. Those hands. On him.

 

Gently, he pushed Sherlock back. Sherlock’s legs hit the bed and he took it as his cue to lie down. John had never seen a sight more beautiful. Sherlock was flush with arousal, his erection pressing against his trousers prominently. Ebony curls looked even darker splayed out over the white pillow case. He was absolutely, breathtakingly beautiful. John quickly removed his jumper and unbuttoned his shirt, pushing the thin material off of his shoulders.

 

Sherlock sat up instantly, fingers gripping John’s bare hips as impossibly soft lips brushed across his scar. The gesture was so intimate it took John’s breath away. “This,” Sherlock whispered quietly, revelling in his ability to now be able to freely touch this part of John that he longed to have contact with. “This is what brought you to me.” He kissed each part of the scar, over John’s collar bone, up his neck and jaw to his lips, praising each part of his soldier silently.

 

He began to unbutton his own shirt, quickly tossing it to the side. John gazed at Sherlock in admiration. This beautiful man was all his. He would never understand it, but he was more than grateful. John leaned forward, hands roaming from Sherlock’s shoulders all the way down to the hem of his trousers. It was Sherlock’s turn to moan now. John had never wanted to explore something so much as he wanted to explore Sherlock’s body. His fingers danced over his nipples, earning him a breathy sigh of pleasure. When he caressed and kissed Sherlock’s hips, the detective moaned quietly. When John ran his fingers through the fine hairs that lead from his navel to inside his trousers, Sherlock arched off the bed.

 

“John.. _please.._ ”

 

John cast his eyes up to him, watching him writhe with need. He wouldn’t make him wait any longer. His fingers fumbled with the flies on his trousers. When he finally slid them off, along with his pants, John was left breathless by what was before him. Sherlock’s cock, long and hard, clung to his stomach. His thighs quivered with need. This was all for _him_. _John_ had done this. To give Sherlock the relief he so desperately needed, John lowered himself to the edge of the bed. Sherlock’s eyes sprung open wide at the movement, just in time to watch John’s mouth open to take the tip of his cock into his mouth.

 

“Fuck…John…”

 

Sherlock’s voice was broken gasps and moans. John stayed on the tip, giving it his full attention. His tongue teased the slit, welcoming the salty pre-come into his mouth. Sherlock rocked his hips upwards into John’s mouth, desperate for more of the velvety warmth that he was providing, but John pulled back each time he pushed up, keeping him from getting more. This man was definitely going to drive Sherlock crazy, he was certain of it.

 

John pulled back with a satisfying _pop_ and licked his lips, collecting every drop of Sherlock’s flavor that he could before working on taking off his own trousers and pants, adding them to the pile of clothes that had accumulated on the floor. Sherlock’s eyes grew wide at the sight of John, naked. He was perfect, and he finally understood why he walked the way he did. John leaned over Sherlock, to Sherlock’s bedside table, and opened the drawer. It took the doctor less than a minute to find the bottle of lubricant that Sherlock was incredibly thankful he had put in there.

 

John was throbbing for Sherlock. He swore he had never been this turned on in his life – but then again, he’d never waited seven years for someone, either. He gave his own cock a single, long stroke to relieve some of the pressure before opening the small bottle and pouring its contents onto his fingers. Sherlock watched him with eyes full of wonder, as if every move he made were fascinating. It made a hint of pink rush to John’s cheeks. The doctor settled himself between Sherlock’s legs, stroking his thigh tenderly.

 

He pressed his finger to his detective’s entrance, causing Sherlock to tense. “Sh, my love. I’m right here. It’s just me.” He whispered reassuringly, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to the inside of his thigh. “Relax. Breathe. We can stop whenever you want.” He knew Sherlock had been through hell while he was held captive in Serbia, and wasn’t going to rush this. He would wait forever for Sherlock if he had to. For Sherlock, John would do anything. Sherlock quickly shook his head and let out a slow breath. “Don’t stop. Please don’t stop.” John acquiesced, but continued his loving praises. He let his lips trail over Sherlock’s thighs and hips until he felt him relax completely. Only then did he slip his finger inside. Sherlock gasped, then moaned.

 

John glanced up at him, keeping his lips hovering over his hip. “S’okay?” He asked, worry tinting his voice again. Sherlock pressed his hips down, urging John to go in deeper than the second knuckle. “God, yes. More than okay. Don’t stop.” John grinned at his words and obeyed, pressing his digit in the rest of the way, before slowly adding a second finger.

 

After several minutes of alternating between scissoring his fingers and thrusting them in and out of Sherlock, with the occasional graze to his prostate, Sherlock was a blubbering mess. All he could do was moan John’s name, beg, and pull John’s hair – all of which John thoroughly enjoyed. But John wasn’t done prepping him quite yet. He didn’t want this to hurt, and he was taking every step he could to ensure that it wouldn’t. The doctor’s lips closed around the head of Sherlock’s cock once again at the same time he added a third finger. Sherlock cried out in pleasure.

 

“Please… _John._ ”

 

John couldn’t hold off anymore. His own cock was leaking copious amounts of pre-come, and he was dangerously close to being in pain from how erect he was. Carefully, he slid his fingers out of Sherlock and reached for the lube again, this time stroking it onto his cock. He lined himself up to Sherlock’s entrance. Sherlock instantly wrapped his legs around John’s waist, begging him to hurry. John grinned as he leaned down, lips hovering over Sherlock’s. “You’re a bit impatient, aren’t you?”

 

“How can waiting 2,549 days be considered impatient in any terms?”

 

John smiled as he leaned down to kiss him, welcoming the taste of whiskey and biscuits and tobacco (which Sherlock swore he stopped using three months ago) that comprised a flavour that was so completely _Sherlock_ that he would never be able to taste any of those things again without associating them with the genius. Sherlock squeezed his thighs around John’s waist, pulling him forward. The motion caused John to breach Sherlock, leaving John breathless for a moment.

 

After finally adjusting to the tight heat that had welcomed his tip, and Sherlock’s moans of encouragement, John slowly inched his way in. Sherlock clawed down his back, marking John with scratches that he would proudly show off. The sounds pouring from Sherlock’s lips were so erotic John thought he would come from them alone. He had never seen something so beautiful as Sherlock completely losing himself to something pleasurable. His mind was turned off, even just for a few minutes.

 

“Oh god…John!” John finally bottomed out, his hips pressed flush to Sherlock’s. He stayed still a moment, allowing Sherlock to adjust to his size and the feeling of being filled. Sherlock’s back arched, hips pressing down as he tried to fuck himself with John’s cock. He had never _needed_ something this much before. Finally, John gave him what he so badly needed. Strong arms came down on either side of his head, leaving him completely surrounding by his Captain. John’s hips moved slowly at first, each thrust purposeful. But he slowly began to gain speed when Sherlock started to press his hips down again.

 

“John! Fuck…harder. Harder!” John had to readjust so he was on his haunches, clasping to the headboard. Sherlock moved his legs so they were over John’s shoulders. This new angle had Sherlock seeing stars with each thrust, and John was being sure to hit his prostate with every third movement. He was thrusting just as hard as Sherlock wanted, moving a pillow to come between Sherlock and the headboard so he wouldn’t get hurt. Sherlock’s moans turned to shouts of pleasure, screams of John’s name.

 

“God, Sherlock. You’re so fucking tight. Ah!” He closed his eyes, and Sherlock grinned. He tensed his muscles, contracting around John’s cock. John groaned, quickly pulling back with an equally wicked smirk. “You’re an evil, evil man.” He said, sliding himself back into the detective. Sherlock moaned as he kissed John, sucking on his lip. “I’ve been told that a time or two.”

 

John’s lips trailed down Sherlock’s jaw, his hand wrapping around Sherlock’s cock, stroking in him with his thrusts. Their moans mingled in the air between them. John could feel his orgasm collecting at the base of his spine, and Sherlock knew with John hitting his prostate like this, he wasn’t going to last much longer.

 

“I…I’m gonna come,” Sherlock stuttered breathlessly, back arching off the bed so completely that it crashed his chest into Johns, causing their stomachs to rub against his cock. “Want you to come in me. Fill me up. Ah! Please, John. _Please!_ ”

 

Sherlock’s words, the way he begged, made John moan out Sherlock’s name, stroking him faster. He felt Sherlock’s cock expand in his hand for just a moment before he came, covering John’s hand and both of their chests. When Sherlock’s muscles tensed and contracted, it pulled John’s orgasm from him. “Sherlock…” He moaned the warning, burying himself into him as he emptied his load.

 

Breathlessly, John kissed Sherlock as he pulled out, then collapsed next to him. His muscles were shaking with the aftershocks of such an intense orgasm. His heart was racing – in part due to what they had just done, and in part due to his love for Sherlock and realising that Sherlock felt the same. John opened his arms, reaching out to pull Sherlock into him. Sherlock didn’t hesitate to curl up next to him, his head resting on John’s chest

 

“I love you, you know. I’ve loved you for years.” John whispered, confessing for the first time.

 

Sherlock smiled, turning his head just enough to place a kiss on John’s chest. “I love you too. You always confess something major to me when I almost die…”

 

John pulled Sherlock in even closer, as if the gesture would protect him from all the dangers in the world. “I’ll start telling you everything, even the major things, if you stop almost dying.”

 

Sherlock pressed his face into John’s neck, feeling his pulse against him. “I think I can live with that.” He whispered sleepily, pressing a lazy kiss to his skin. He let his arm drape over John’s stomach, his fingers pressed against the scar that brought them together, his lips pressed to his doctor’s pulse, and fell asleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive criticism is always welcome :)


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